THE FALLEN KING
The Bellum Sisters 4
By T. A. Grey
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I have the usual girls to thank plus a few special extras. I’d like to thank my editor Brandi for doing such a fabulous job, LuMary for being the greatest beta reader ever, and Char for creating such an awesome cover! I couldn’t love it any more.
A special shout out goes to my ladies in The Alpha Squad! You gals are the best, and I mean that in the most sincerest way possible. You have been so supportive in helping me to tell people about The Fallen King. You have also shown me more glorious pictures of sexy men than I’ve ever seen in my life. Thank you, ladies! I love you!
Happy reading, everyone!
T. A. Grey
GLOSSARY
Dreenaru gina slinah – Demonic for “You are incredible.”
futhorc – A small furry animal that lives in the rift.
Haute – Royal shahoulin demons
idummi – A bottom feeding demon from the deepest layer under the rift. They are aggressive, easily manipulated creatures with poisonous talons.
jaheera – Dark and dangerous demons that live at the lowest rung of the rift and are capable of incredible dark magic.
Kolan – A black, carnivorous bird that resides in the rift.
Krishnoe! – Demonic for “Silence!”
Protector – A male in charge of protecting and caring for a succubus.
rift – The division between earth and the nether-realm where demons of many kinds reside.
shahoulin - A breed of demon that lives at the top of the rift. They have magical powers and superior strength.
Chapter One
The dead girl lay on her back facing whoever had ended her life. Her left arm curved around her head in a plié and her right knee bent out towards the street.
“All right, Krenshaw, do your thing.” Mike Waxell gave her a nod then went back to surveying the scene. Mike was the lead detective on the case tonight. She’d worked with him a few times before.
Abbigail sucked in a deep breath and blew it out through her nose. She already had her latex gloves donned and cloth booties covering her shoes. The booties weren’t always necessary, but in this case there was so much blood the whole team had to wear them. Everything would have to be processed. With stabbing victims the murderer often cut himself too so the his or her blood may be on the ground too.
First, Abbigail took in the scene just as the detectives would do. It helped her to get an idea of how the attack took place. She was new at this, still had a lot to learn, but she was pretty good. She’d had an excellent mentor who’d trained her under his wing and helped her to get this job. God, she missed Stan.
They’d already determined the girl to be a shapeshifter from a local pack who’d gone missing two nights before. An elderly woman walking her poodle before she went to bed found the body at the back of an alley between two brownstone city apartment buildings. The residents of the Green Tree apartments peered down at her from their little windows up above. Others, mostly curious neighbors passing by, watched the team work from behind the yellow tape closing off the crime scene.
The alley was typical with A/C units and small windows facing each other from both apartment buildings. This path was only here for maintenance men who needed to work on the A/C units or for the utility companies to check their power lines. A six-foot tall fence stood at the back of the alley, and the girl’s body was found right in front of it on a patch of concrete.
Abbigail looked back down the path where the faces watched with morbid, avid curiosity. She noted the alley to be only about twenty feet wide with the AC units taking up a good four of that from either side. A small pathway. She’d spotted the large community-sized dumpsters as she’d pulled into the lot. Why hadn’t the killer just dumped her? Did he want the body to be found? Was he interrupted and had to be quick about it? If he just happened upon her here and killed her that’d make sense. Except that a shapeshifter being out this far away from her pack alone didn’t make any sense. Shapeshifters stuck in groups, or at least the females did.
Abbigail squatted beside the girl. She had brown hair, the natural kind that had hints of blonde from being out in the sun. Her eyes were open, her face tilted towards the alley. The majority of the blood had spilled from a neck wound. Abby leaned down to inspect it. Could be a throat cutting or garroting, but more blood covered her abdomen wetting the girl’s brown t-shirt to her skin. A cartoon cowboy riding a horse and lassoing a whip above his head sat on her shirt. Above it in pink scrawling text it said: Ride me cowboy! Abby cleared her throat and moved in with her inspection.
One shoe had come off which had been found at the beginning of the alley. The shoe probably came off during a struggle.
As associate medical examiner for the paranormal unit of the Fort Collins Police Department in Colorado, Abbigail got to touch the body first. She shouldn’t even have the job she had. She was too young, but she’d graduated high school a year early then went through a special FBI program, a brand-new unit on studying supernatural cases. She’d been surprised to find her classes not filled to the brink. Who wouldn’t find learning about the supernatural beings of the world utterly fascinating? Apparently many since her classes had sat half empty. That’s when she met Stan Haubermann, a middle-aged detective turned behavioral profiler who’d started the program. He’d taken her under his wing and taught her everything he knew. Not that she was special; he’d done it to other members from her graduating class. She was just the only one to already have a job practicing his teachings.
Abbigail gently pushed the victim’s head back, to the left, and then right. The cut was deep and clean. Not a serrated blade, and the wound wasn’t thin enough to be from a garrote.
“Definitely a blade,” she called out. “Rigor mortis has set in. She’s been here at least four hours but probably no longer than twelve.” Her skin had already begun to turn a purplish hue. Her muscles were beginning to tighten.
Abby arrived at the scene at a quarter passed eight. That meant the girl had been killed during the night.
The detectives quieted and came closer. Detective Mike leaned down next to her as his keen eyes professionally scoped out the body. Abby pressed her fingers around the neck to feel for splintered or broken bones but found none. She lifted the shirt and the detectives leaned over to peer.
“Stabbed her a good four times then took out her neck I bet,” Mike said.
“That’d be my guess,” Abby agreed, eyeing the deep red cuts in victim’s abdomen. “Arm bent that way, I’d say he was holding her from behind and she’d reached back to try to get his hair or pull his arm away, something. That’s when he slit her throat. She fell down just like that, still reaching for him.”
“Check her hands,” Mike said.
Abby lifted each of the victim’s hands paying specific attention to her nails, fingers, and palms. “Defensive stab wounds.” They happen during knife fights or on victims of knife homicides. The victims throw out their hands to try to dodge or block the swinging blade and their own hands get cut in the process. Blood was caked under the victim’s fingernails making them look murky brown.
“How old do you think she is? The local shapeshifter alpha said the girl they’re missing is about seventeen.” He glanced down at his notepad. “She fits the description. Went missing last night.”